For the First Time

I read their poems,

I feel their rage,

I see their sadness,

I understand their frustration,

I know their darkness,

I have been on that side

of the fence;

I have been where they are;

like a giant vacuum,

it sucks you into this

deep murky mire,

echoes from below,

cry out, as visions

of madmen, standing on

the platform, waiting for a train

which never comes,

flash before your burned out,

cynical eyes;

I have been to their edge;

this body fades,

for the first time, words

come to life, for the

first time, possibilities

far outweigh the

realities;

for the first time

I am clean;

the pain grows,

as you hold it inside

like a deformed child,

locked away, out of sight,

out of mind;

no one listens, no one sees,

no one understands;

but You.

.

.